Star Trek: TNG: Cold Equations II: Silent Weapons (37 page)

The transmission ended, reverting the viewscreen to the enlarged image of the
Basirico
on the surface. A spreading bloom of dust rose up around the mining vessel, all but obscuring it from the
Enterprise
’s visual sensors. Picard sensed the outcome of this crisis would be decided in the next few moments. “Lieutenant Elfiki! What’s happening down there?”

“They’ve snared the starship wreckage in some kind of a grappling frame,” she said. “It looks as if they plan to pull it free by lifting off.”

Worf confided, “Captain, if they rendezvous with the Breen ship—”

“Dygan,” Picard snapped, “order the
Basirico
to cut its engines at once. Make clear that if they fail to comply, we will have no choice but to fire upon them.” He turned toward Šmrhová. “Lock forward torpedoes on the
Basirico,
phasers on the
Mlotek
.”

She keyed in the command, then looked up. “The
Mlotek
is hailing us.”

“On-screen,” Picard said as he faced forward.

The masked head of Thot Raas filled the screen once more.
“Do not try to bluff me, Picard. You will not fire on an unarmed ship full of Federation civilians. Stand down.”

Picard imagined he could see the Breen’s desperation, even through that opaque mask. “I’ve had enough of your games. Enough lies and manipulations. This ends here, now.”

He cast a sidelong look at Šmrhová. She frowned. “The
Basirico
is still ascending.”

Then he looked at Thot Raas. He wanted the Breen commander to remember the look in his eyes at this moment. “Lieutenant Šmrhová . . . fire torpedoes.”

Soft feedback tones trilled from her console. Picard looked back toward the master systems display, whose center screen showed the crimson streaks of photon torpedoes tearing away at full impulse toward Tirana III. Then the five-warhead salvo slammed into the
Basirico,
which disappeared in a painfully bright flash of white fire. After the glow of the blast faded, all that remained of the mining ship and its excavated prize was a dark smear of ash and dust obscuring the planet’s cinnamon-hued surface.

His eyes cold and his mien adamant, Picard turned back to Thot Raas. “If, as I suspect, that ship was actually an asset of the Typhon Pact, conducting a military operation in Federation space, then its vessel was improperly marked, and its crew was out of uniform, making their presence here a crime of espionage—and an act of war.” He took a few slow steps forward as he continued. “On the other hand, if I just ordered the destruction of a legal private Federation vessel and murdered its crew of Federation citizens, I shall have to face a court-martial and answer for my actions to Starfleet and my government. But not before I take this opportunity to blast you and your ship to pieces.” He flashed a cold glare at the Breen. “Unless, of course, you wish to disavow your operatives on the surface—and retreat from our space while I’m still willing to permit it. In which case, all this could be excused as a . . . 
misunderstanding
.”

The standoff lasted for several seconds of fraught silence.

Then, from the tactical console, Šmrhová declared, “The
Mlotek
has powered down its weapons and lowered its shields.”

Thot Raas tilted his head forward at an odd, conciliatory angle.
“Our apologies, Captain. We seem to have involved ourselves in a matter that was not our concern. As it is now resolved, we will resume our course to Tzenkethi space, as permitted under interstellar law.”

“By all means, Thot Raas. And see that your cloak remains off line while you transit our space—as a demonstration of your goodwill.
Enterprise
out.”

Dygan cut the channel, and the main viewscreen showed the
Mlotek
reversing course and accelerating away, first at full impulse, and then leaping to warp in a flash of light and color.

Picard’s relief at the confrontation’s end was tempered by his need to confirm what they had just destroyed. “Number One, secure from Red Alert. Lieutenant Elfiki, send your scans of the parallel-universe wreck to Commander La Forge for analysis. If this is what the Breen thought was worth sacrificing so much to gain, I want to learn all that we can about it.”

29

It had been only a few days since Thot Tran had stood at the right hand of the domo, occupying a place of honor that presaged a future bright with possibility. Tonight he stood before Brex with his head bowed and his knee bent, a penitent summoned to face a storm of wrath.

“Do you have any idea what this failure has cost us? Not only within the Pact, but as a people? I placed my trust in you, Tran. And you’ve repaid me with disgrace.”

At the risk of worsening his predicament, Tran dared to speak in his own defense. “Lord Domo, Starfleet has no proof that the mining vessel was under our control, only suspicions it can never verify, thanks to its own violent intervention.”

Brex stepped forward and loomed above him. “It doesn’t matter. All of local space knows the
Mlotek
was hounded out of Federation territory like a frightened
terlo
cub.” The domo circled him as he continued, and as Tran listened, he wondered if Brex meant to kill him. “Billions of
sakto
wasted. An entire intelligence project sacrificed, along with two of our top cyberneticists. We’ve angered the Orions, enraged the Gorn, tipped our hand to the Romulans, and risked a war with the Federation.” He stepped back in front of Tran and towered over him. “And what do we have to show for all this blood and treasure?
Nothing
.”

“It might still be possible to turn this crisis to our advantage.”

The domo met Tran’s hopeful assertion with bitter skepticism. “How?”

Tran kept his tone neutral. “Before the
Basirico
was destroyed, its crew relayed their scans of the crashed starship to the
Mlotek
for analysis. A rudimentary study of its engines suggests the vessel was capable of creating artificial wormholes, as we suspected.”

“Are those scans detailed enough for us to replicate the wormhole drive?”

The accusatory tone of Brex’s question left Tran defensive and trepidatious. “No, my lord. There were sensor-blocking minerals in the planet’s soil, and it appears the vessel itself incorporated such compounds into its hull and spaceframe.”

“Then we know nothing more now than we did before we started.” The domo ascended the dais and returned to his elevated power position behind the audience chamber’s lectern. He asked with open mockery, “How do you propose we turn this to our advantage, Tran?”

In the silence before Tran’s answer, the arctic wind outside the domed chamber howled like
sohii,
the death omens of ancient Paclu legend. “What no one outside the SRD knows is that the crashed vessel’s quantum signature confirmed it was from a close parallel universe—one we suspect has been known to the Federation for some time. If we can find a way to reach this alternate universe, we could try to capture one of these vessels intact.”

His suggestion seemed to command the domo’s attention. After a moment, Brex asked, “What would be the cost to reach this alternate universe? In both time and money?”

“That’s difficult to predict, Domo. However, my initial proposal calls for an investment of half a billion
sakto
for a two-year research initiative.”

While the domo was still considering Tran’s request, the SRD director heard the door of the audience chamber’s sole turbolift open behind him. He turned to see Thot Pran and the Confederacy’s representative on the Typhon Pact’s board of governors, Delegate Gren, walking toward him and Brex. “Greetings,” Pran said, his amplified vocoder voice echoing around them. “How convenient to find you both here at this most auspicious moment.”

It rankled Tran to see Thot Pran stride into the domo’s sanctum as if he were a conqueror. By reflex, he positioned himself between the newcomers and Brex, even though Gren and Pran significantly outranked him in the Confederacy’s hierarchical meritocracy. “Explain yourselves.”

“I bring the same demand,” Gren replied, directing his words over Tran’s head at Brex. The delegate held up a data stick. “Domo, this is a formal summons from the Confederate Congress, requesting your appearance before them at midday tomorrow—to face a vote of no confidence.” He held out the data stick and waited, his cast defiant and proud.

To Tran’s surprise, Brex offered no argument. The domo stepped down from the dais and walked past Tran to face Gren. Then he took the data stick from the delegate’s hand. “I have received the summons and will honor my pledge to appear before the Congress.”

The leader’s acquiescence filled Tran with anxiety. A new domo would almost certainly want to break with the efforts of a predecessor, especially a project that had spawned so much fury in the highest ranks of the military and the government. “Domo . . .”

Brex cut him off with a raised hand, and Tran obeyed the signal for silence.

Pran stepped forward and all but touched the front of his mask’s snout to Brex’s. “You have overreached for the last time, Domo Brex. Now you shall answer for your errors of judgment to those who appointed you. And after they strip you of your office . . . I shall look forward to replacing you.” He turned his head toward Tran. “And erasing your mistakes.”

The supreme commander of the Breen military marched out of the sanctum with Delegate Gren on his heels. They stepped into the turbolift. As the door slid shut, Tran realized he now had far more pressing concerns than his projects at the Special Research Division.

He needed to persuade the future Domo Pran not to have him killed.

•   •   •

“Of all the reasons I might have had to return to Cestus III, this is one I’d hoped I would never see.” Nanietta Bacco paused and squinted into the sunlight blazing through the ornate stained-glass windows behind the choir balcony, opposite the lectern. Before her, the pews of the Unitarian church were packed from the front row to the back with mourners of many species and many credos. What they had in common was that they had all loved the late Esperanza Piñiero.
Must keep going,
she told herself. Just as she struggled inwardly to hold fast to a shred of her composure, she clung to the sides of the lectern to keep herself from trembling. Pushing through her grief, she let the words on the padd in front of her carry her onward.

“Four years ago, Esperanza talked me into running for the office of President of the United Federation of Planets—a rhetorical feat for which I never truly forgave her.” A mild susurrus of restrained chuckling traveled through the congregation. “But that was her way: she knew what was right, and what had to be done, and one way or another, she made things happen.

“I knew her most of her life. When I first met her, she was just a little girl, living here with her family in Two Rivers. Even then, nothing mattered more to her than fairness. She never feared to stand up to bullies—or her teachers, or her parents. There were so many things to love about Esperanza that I could never name them all: her loyalty, her bravery, her intelligence, her energy. But if I had to name her greatest virtue, I’d say it was her compassion.”

Sorrow seized Bacco’s throat and misted her eyes, threatening to break down her disguise of dignity, but she held on. As she continued, her padd scrolled the text of her speech, matching the timing of her delivery automatically. “Esperanza fulfilled many roles throughout her life. She was a daughter and a sister; a friend and a confidant. During her years in Starfleet, she rose to the rank of commander, acted as an attaché to Admiral Alynna Nechayev, and served the Federation both in times of peace and in war.

“After she left Starfleet, she came home, eager to serve her fellow citizens any way she could. So it was that one afternoon she strolled into my old office in Pike City, gave me a hug that nearly crushed the life out of me, then said with a smile, ‘Governor, can I have a job?’”

A warm laugh of recognition and amusement helped lift the weight of bereavement for a few moments. Then the audience settled, and Bacco resumed her eulogy. “What could I say? I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t take no for an answer. So I brought her on as a special adviser in interstellar affairs—a job for which she was overqualified, if I say so myself.

“I warned her that politics can be a harsh profession. I’ve seen it turn the best of people into jaded cynics and partisan mudslingers. But public service brought out the best in Esperanza. It reaffirmed the values she had always held dear. Ensconced in the halls of government, she became more alive to the plight and suffering of others: the persecuted who cry out for justice; the abandoned in need of refuge; the soldiers who all too often are the first ones called upon to risk and sacrifice all they have, or ever will have, simply because they swore an oath.

“Her life’s work was not to champion those with power or special connections. It was to give a voice to those who were not heard; to add rungs to the ladder of opportunity; to preserve the dream of the Federation’s founding.